


Solving the Mystery

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dark, F/M, Knifeplay, Mindwiping, Non-Consensual Violence, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What wouldn't the Doctor do to figure out the only mystery worth solving? An extremely dark fic with an extremely dark Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solving the Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/942.html?thread=3967662#t3967662
> 
> Spoilers for pretty well all of Series 7. 
> 
> All the trigger warnings: rape, non-con, extreme violence, mind-wiping, blood, knives, whipping, invasive scanning, paralysis. I'm definitely going to hell for this one.

“Who are you?” the Doctor asked through gritted teeth.

“Doctor?” Clara turned and was met by a blow to the face. 

“Who are you?” He yelled again, and struck her, this time with some sort of club.

***

She woke up to the sensation of sharp flicks to her back and shoulders from what felt like a riding crop. She was curled on the floor, with her hands in some sort of handcuffs attached to a chain which led up to the ceiling and the taste of blood in her mouth. “Doctor?” she asked again, working herself into a kneeling posture. Was this some sort of dark entity possessing him, like the Cyber-Planner? Was that why he didn't recognize her?

“Who? Are? You?” He repeated his question, distinguishing each word with a lash from the crop. 

“Clara Oswald.” Thwack. “Your traveling companion.” Thwack. “Your lover.” Thwack. “Your friend.” The last belt came across her face, reopening the cuts on the inside of her mouth. “Please, Doctor, what are you doing?” He hit her again: because he could, apparently.

“I've been watching you for months, now. Spying on your past.” That revelation truly shocked her. Anyone could break in a moment; prolonged surveillance seemed darker, wrong. “I watched you die twice. You're impossible. You shouldn't be here, you shouldn't exist.” He paused to hit her again and again until some of the fury had seeped out of him. “I've had you scanned and probed while you slept. I've talked to anyone I could find who recognized you.” He hit her again as if this would somehow solve the existential problem of her presence. The welts were starting to sting as tears ran down her face. “I've showed your records to some of the best minds in the universe. Nothing. Just a stupid. Human. Girl.” Again, each word was followed with a blow. “My impossible girl,” he echoed, cruelly, bitterly. “I'm a goddamn genius, Clara!” he shouted, manic again. “Why can't I bloody solve you?” Depressive again. Clara didn't want to play armchair psychologist, but the Doctor seemed dangerously unwell, to say the least. 

“Doctor?” she managed between sobs. “What are you talking about?”

“You died,” he said, enunciating each word, using the sonic to hoist her arms up above her head and up off her knees until she had to balance on the balls of her feet. “You were a Dalek, and I blew you up. Are you working for them?” He tossed the crop back onto a table she hadn't noticed before and picked up a proper whip.

“Doctor, I've never seen a Dalek in my life!” 

“Oswin, you were a Dalek! Stop lying!” He lashed at her back, over and over until she broke down crying. “What about in Victorian London? With the Great Intelligence? Are you working for him?” He barely gave her a chance to reply before starting with the whip again.

“Doctor, who is Oswin? Who is the Great Intelligence? What are you doing?” 

He ran a pale hand through his hair and spoke, as if to the ceiling. “Subject refuses to answer questions. Will attempt physical analysis.” He noticed her curious expression; always so perceptive, her Doctor, she thought, even now. “I'm recording this session in case I miss something,” he explained, eyes suddenly bright, tone freakishly like her Doctor's lighthearted voice. “Nice and scientific! So now I'm going to try some tests that you wouldn't have stayed asleep for. They may even inspire you to loosen your tongue as an added bonus!” He seemed to be drawing a perverse pleasure from this, Clara observed, having had some time to recover while he spoke. 

The Doctor produced a knife from the same table as the whip and began slicing the buttons from her blouse. He left a series of careless cuts in his wake as he removed her clothes with the knife. “Subject bleeds red. Like a Time Lord. But you're not a Time Lord. Just one heart. And you aren't a human, either. Look like a human, smell like a human, sound like a human,” he slapped her and she screamed, “feel like a human,” he continued, manhandling her, crushing her breasts. “You even taste like a human,” he concluded, opening a fresh cut on her cheek and licking the blood. “But you can't be a human. So what are you?” The knife flashed out again until he grew bored with waiting for her to answer, leaving shallow, painful cuts on her arms and breasts and hips. “I could open you up to make sure you aren't concealing anything. But you might not live long enough to tell me anything else, and then where would we be?” 

He strode into the corner of the room and wheeled over a large, complicated-looking box covered in hoses and screens and lights and switches. “So now it's on to the more invasive scans. And that means a paralytic.” He jabbed her with some sort of injector, then took one cable which led to a bulbous probe. “This one goes in your mouth,” he jammed it in, and attached it using a set of straps, “and this one goes in your arse,” he continued taking another probe, longer than anyone she'd ever had, and inserting it almost delicately. “I haven't got one for your cunt, so that must be where I come in.” He smirked cruelly and pushed her back onto the floor, releasing the chain as he did so. He was atop her immobile body in seconds and inside her not long after that. Her teeth clicked against the probe as she tried to scream until she finally blacked out.

***

The next time Clara regained consciousness, she was kneeling in front of a vat of blue-green goo, covered in blood, come, sweat, tears, and half-healed cuts. The only other things she has on are the same pair of handcuffs, trapping her hands behind her back, and some sort of breathing mask covering her nose and mouth. “Well, Clara, I'm in a bit of a quandary. The good news is, the scans don't show anything abnormal! You're a regular human girl! No implants, no brainwashing, no alien DNA, nothing. The bad news is, I don't know what to do with you. The worse news is that I've narrowed it down to two choices, and you probably won't like either one.” He stops to show her a knife. “Option number one is I slit your throat and watch you bleed to death.” She can see her eyes go wide in the blade of the knife. “Option number two is I cut open your body cavity, just in case there's something in there that's shielded from all my scans. If there's nothing in there, I dunk you in that stuff until you're good as new, wipe the last twelve hours from your mind, and you go back to being my companion and occasional fuck-toy.” He crouched beside her. “Option one is sort of appealing. I haven't killed anyone for fun in a while and I might try to get back in the habit. But that sort of lets you off the hook in the way that option two doesn't.” He stood and twirled the knife. “I could think of some more interesting torments to put you through between now and when I finally get bored with you, y'see. Wipe you clean each time. I've gotten quite good at it by now.” He frowned. “Didn't use to be, mind. One girl thought she was Cressida! Had to leave her in ancient Rome. But you? You'll never miss a trick.”

He dropped to the ground again and took her face in his free hand, squeezing and twisting it so she looked in his eyes. Those big, sad eyes, she had thought, once. But there seemed so little of her Doctor left. “So I'm always going on about how you tag-along humans are my conscience, so I figure I'll leave this one to you. One slow blink and I slit your throat; two slow blinks and I search your guts for Dalek bombs but then it's back to normal as far as you're concerned.” She held his stare and then gave one blink. He laughed savagely as he drove the knife into her chest, just below her ribcage, and slashed down to her mons. “All clear, it seems,” he said before kicking her into the vat below.

***

Clara awoke the next morning with a headache. “Mmph,” she said. 

“Good morning!” She smiled at the sound of the Doctor's voice.

“What did we do last night?” 

“You grabbed a bottle of Y'yunian tequila by mistake, and now you have a hangover and no memory of anything since yesterday dinner. I stripped you off and put you to bed when you passed out after your fourth drink.” He walked into the room at last, carrying a tray full of breakfast. 

“You really are wonderful,” she said, sitting up and letting the sheets fall from her unblemished breasts as he sets down the tray. 

“You're wonderful, my adorable, impossible Clara.” He brushed a lock of chestnut hair from her face and kissed her nose.

She laughed and kissed him back. “Who am I that I should be so lucky?” she asked as she spread jam on a scone.

“Who indeed?”

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, that is a Vicki reference.


End file.
